


The Krimson Kingdom

by Charlie_M



Category: The Evil Within (Video Game)
Genre: Anal Sex, Canon-Typical Violence, I'm probably going easy on them actually just saying..., Inappropriate use of honor as an excuse to bang the power-bottom, Knight AU, M/M, Manipulation, Meaning it's set in historical times, Medieval Times AU, Otherwise known as fear of eyeballs, Psychological Torture, Rough Sex, Ruseb, Some gruesome stuff happens with eyeballs but the guy is dead, Torture, ommatophobia
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-16
Updated: 2019-02-10
Packaged: 2019-06-11 04:30:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 15,740
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15307524
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Charlie_M/pseuds/Charlie_M
Summary: Ruvik’s thumb brushed along his cheek just under his bruised eye, palm cupping his jaw.“I am the king’s alchemist, Ruben of the house Victoriano, and you are mine.”---Sebastian is living from battle to battle... if one could call waking up on the floors of pubs "living." The kingdom of Krimson is always at war and all he has left to cling to is his honor and his sword. One of those things is about to be used against him, and it's not the one made of steel.Ruvik is the brilliant and beastly alchemist of the Krimson Kingdom. Burned in a fire set by an assassin guild, he is the last surviving (but disgraced) member of the noble house Victoriano. He's heard of the esteemed knight Sebastian Castellanos, but he didn't expect to make a loyal servant of him. Well, Ruvik knows how to take advantage of an opportunity (and a grief-ridden knight). Sebastian's no academic, but he'll come in useful somehow.





	1. An Unusual Request

**Author's Note:**

> Look man, I know knights didn't engage in actual battle, but I like the thought of Sebastian in cool ass armor and stuff. I don't claim to be a historian.
> 
> I said I would stop writing OC fiction for this fandom and here it is, as promised.

The fire was intense, even at a distance. Fingers of flame reaching, grasping for the sky, forming an angry blister against the velvet night. He sprinted for what felt like miles, until his lungs were tight and thick with smoke and each breath was a knife in his heart. No matter how fast he forced his legs, or how far he reached his arms, or how loud he shouted for help, the ending was always the same.

He was too late. The fire consumed everything in its path, feasting on the ashes of his life like some ravenous beast. Lily was lost to the smothering heat and thick black smoke. Sometimes Myra died with her. It wasn’t far from reality. She may not have succumbed to the inferno, but she was lost to Sebastian the day Lily was.

Some nights, Sebastian managed to get into the house. He’d shoulder the door open, throwing an arm up in defense against an onslaught of flame that roared forth. Sweat would drip down his brow, soak the leathers and fabrics between his skin and heating metal armor.

He’d duck low beneath cracking wooden beams and work his way up blackened stairs until he was crouched in the loft where Lily slept. He’d call for her, fear gripping him in cold jaws. She wouldn’t appear until despair had sunk its claws in, choking him more effectively than the smoke.

“Father?” she’d call in a small, scared voice.

Sebastian would whirl around, hope and relief turning his skin clammy despite the blaze all around them. He’d drop to his knees and embrace her, mindful of burning her delicate skin on hot armor plating. Lily would wrap her small arms around his neck and for a precious moment everything was alright.

“It’s all your fault,” she’d whisper. “You didn’t save me!”

Then the heat would reach him in earnest, a white-hot scorch that melted the skin from his bones like candle wax.

Those times, Sebastian was almost grateful to burn with her because he knew that the grief would swallow him whole otherwise.

He’d wake, panting and sweating and cursing until the lip of a bottle pacified him. Every night. Every night for—God, he didn't want to think of how many years it had been. Too long. It had been too long and lonely, and he was so very tired. If he thought of the years, Sebastian was sure the time would finally catch up and his body would collapse as if each day carried its own crushing weight.

The dawn brought the song of battle on tendrils of too-bright light. Sebastian couldn’t remember the name of their latest opponents, and not just because of the alcohol. It seemed like the whole world had declared siege on Krimson. One war after another for as long as Sebastian cared to remember.

The last peace had ended a little after Lily’s birth. Sebastian had hated it when she'd been alive, but he was glad of it now. Without the anticipation of the next fight, he wouldn’t have known what to do with himself. Perhaps drown himself in whatever alcohol he could scrounge up and drink himself into disgrace.

As long as he was able to carry a sword, Sebastian would fight for Krimson’s glory and that had earned him standing as one of the king’s best knights. He didn’t care for any of the accolades or the acknowledgement it brought anymore, but it put him on the front lines as often as he needed to be. All he had left was battle and the vestiges of his honor. He would fulfill his duties—hopefully until his last breath.

Which meant getting out of bed and joining his forces, even if he didn't feel like moving.

He shook himself from the inn’s threadbare sheets, downed the remnants a bottle on the nightstand in two big gulps. Pieces of armor littered the ground— scratched from careless maneuvers and bloodied from skilled counters. It would need a good cleaning after the battle.

A discolored patch in the leather of his vambrace made him revise that thought. His whole uniform needed a proper cleaning. Sebastian probably needed one himself, but that wasn’t likely to happen. The money would be better spent on booze or food or other repairs.

The last necessity before he left was his sword— the most well cared for bit of equipment in his ensemble. It had spent the night by his side rather than one of the generous women with the low-cut blouses downstairs. He secured it to his belt and clomped down to the bar for a quick, cheap breakfast.

Food— especially this food— wasn’t appealing, but he needed the strength. If he ate it fast enough, he’d hardly even taste the gray sludge-porridge. The dried meat went down easier if he swallowed with a mouthful of watered ale. At least the bed had kept his battle-worn body from getting stiff in the night. It was almost worth being out of the coin.

When he’d finished, he dropped two coppers on the bar and lumbered for the door. His horse seemed better rested than him, at least. Sebastian hoisted himself into the saddle and clicked his tongue to set her at an easy trot through the village. When the ground turned to dirt roads and tall grass, he urged the animal into a gallop.

Joseph was waiting for him at the edge of the camp, holding his helmet beneath his arm. As Sebastian dismounted, he noted the grim expression on his fellow-knight’s face. It was an expression he was well acquainted with after fighting side-by-side with Joseph so many years.

“What is it?” he asked, voice hoarse and rough with its first use of the morning.

Joseph’s brows twitched, the only indication that he’d realized where Sebastian had spent his night and didn’t approve. There were other matters to focus on than Sebastian’s unhealthy habits.

“The scouts didn’t return this morning. We can only assume the worst,” Joseph replied, shifting on his feet. “Captain Connelly is readying the troops.”

Sebastian swore a black oath and fell into step, guiding his horse behind them. It was early for battle— the sun had only just begun to crest the horizon. They hadn’t been expecting violence to break out until late in the day. Their enemies must have felt confident to attack fresh Krimson troops.

As they entered the heart of the camp, there were a few calls of greeting, but most of the soldiers were rallying for the arduous day ahead. The flash of steel and clang of metal filled the air, the quiet murmur of plans and formations. It was a sight Sebastian had seen hundreds of times, and yet each one filled his gut with lead. How many would they lose that day? How thin would the camp be by nightfall? He didn’t care much for his own life, but the lives of his men were different.

Sebastian scanned the area but didn’t see the face he was looking for. “Where’s Kidman?”

Joseph gestured ahead, near the center of the camp where a bonfire had burned the previous night. “Julie is also preparing.”

As if hearing them, the squire ducked out of her tent with helmet clutched in one hand. She scanned her surroundings before spotting the two and strolled to join them.

“Sir Joseph,” she greeted in her usual cool tone, “Sir Sebastian. I trust you rested well.”

Sebastian bristled for a moment, thinking it was an underhanded comment. However, Kidman just turned back to Joseph as he began discussing her role in the upcoming battle, and Sebastian let it go. He was being oversensitive, pent up from going several weeks without a proper fight to work his frustrations out on.

“Sir Sebastian,” Kidman said, “a letter came for you late in the night.”

She extended a folded parchment to him, an unfamiliar red seal kissing the edges closed. He prayed it was not an urgent summons to return to the king’s castle, despite the lack of royal crest. If he had to spend another two weeks on the road he might go looking for trouble along the way— and that would only end in disaster and blood.

He cracked the wax with a blade and unrolled it, skimming over an unfamiliar messy scrawl. A court physician stationed in the Beacon township wanted him to bring… _what_?

“Joseph. Read this and tell me I haven’t lost my mind,” he said.

The parchment was taken in leather gloves, unrolled and reviewed beneath Joseph’s narrow-eyed gaze. It must have been difficult for him to read without his spectacles, but he’d had to leave them in his tent. If he fought with them on, he risked shattering them and losing an eye.

“Oh, my,” Joseph breathed after a moment, “that is strange. Will you do it?”

Sebastian retrieved the letter but let the creases fold it closed. He ran a hand down his face, over the rough stubble prickling his jaw. Considered the request and if it was really a request at all. Had it been some lord-ling demanding trinkets from dead men, that would have been one thing. A court physician who required materials for research, even horrible materials…

“Not much choice in the matter,” he grumbled. “I suppose I have to.”

Joseph frowned but nodded. Kidman looked mildly frustrated at not being included and Sebastian considered showing her. It would be an opportunity to tell her “here, this is what you have to look forward to once you’re given title.” He thought better of it when Joseph shot him a sideways look. This was an unusual task, one that perhaps she’d never encounter if she was lucky. Sebastian was not lucky.

“It’s just an odd request from one of the court physicians,” he explained. “I’ll ride out after the battle to deliver it.”

Kidman accepted this with a nod, more interested in adjusting the dagger strapped to her thigh. Sebastian tucked the letter into his belt, wanting to keep it private. Behind Kidman’s shoulder, Captain Connelly jogged to meet them. The morning was still cool, but beads of sweat were already forming a crown around his head.

“Sir Sebastian. You’ve returned just in time.” He shifted nervously. “There are rumors that there are Mobius men among the enemy troops.”

Sebastian snorted. If only that were true. He would relish the opportunity to cleave one of those bastards in two, just for a decent thrill. However, it was rare that the assassin’s guild deigned to meddle in the affairs of petty Krimson skirmishes. Beacon was an inconsequential section of territory, its only redeeming quality the Elk River winding just outside the town.

“Just rumors,” Sebastian said. “We should focus on the real threat. Let’s take a look at the plans one more time before we ride out.”

 

The battle was so short he could have blinked and missed it. Most of them were— quick bursts of violence followed by longer silences to mop up casualties. These things could last days, weeks if they had to waste time routing after every bout. Even so, this had been an unusually one-sided fight and they anticipated the enemy taking extra time to regroup.

There were some inevitable bodies and injuries on their own side, but Joseph and Kidman survived. Sebastian himself had only a few new bruises to add to his infinite list. Considering how quick the opposition had been to retreat, there was a chance they wouldn’t see proper battle again in Beacon. Their withdrawal would be safest for his soldiers and Sebastian was ashamed that there was a part of him that hoped it wouldn’t happen.

They sent another pair of scouts to investigate the enemy’s movements while they evacuated the dead and dying. Standing apart from the others, Sebastian glanced over the bodies at his feet. Joseph was nearby, giving instructions to Connolly but keeping an eye on him. The physician’s letter skittered through Sebastian’s mind, gruesome words in stark black ink.

He sighed and fished into a pouch on his belt, where a wide-necked vial commandeered from the company medic lay. It hadn’t shattered during combat, unfortunately. Sebastian knelt next to a body— a fallen enemy— and unsheathed a knife. Behind him, he heard Joseph direct Connelly away, focusing attention elsewhere.

Sebastian braced himself as he thumbed the corpse’s half-opened eyelid further back. This was undoubtedly some sort of blasphemy, but he hadn’t known religion for a while. Locking his jaw in resignation, he slipped the unsharpened edge beneath the lower lid and shimmied it into the socket. It was a messy, bloody task but he managed to work the eyeball out with a wet _pop_ that had him gagging.

Of course, it couldn’t be so easy. It was attached to a tough cord of flesh tethered deep inside the skull and he squeezed his own eyes shut as he sliced through it. The first dropped into the vial and he breathed heavy through his nose as he shifted to the other. Two, the physician had said. Oh, they’d be having some words when they met.

With the keen desire to just get it _over with_ , Sebastian was less careful the second time. He jammed the blade into the corner of the socket and nearly lost his nerve when the blade scraped bone. With a twist and jerk of his wrist, it slipped out and lulled against the corpse's cheek. The second eyeball went into the vial, the whole thing corked and stuffed into his pouch again.

He straightened and stared down at the body. Hollow black sockets, bracketed by tears of blood, opened towards an overcast sky. Double sightless. Eyes were the windows to the soul, Sebastian had heard. What did it mean to take them from a dead man, when there was no soul left to see? What was he peering into? Sebastian gazed into that empty void and thought he saw hell.

A canteen obscured his vision. “Here,” Joseph said.

Sebastian grunted in thanks and poured water over his hands, scrubbed them together to get the blood and slime of eye-fluid off his skin. Then he took a long pull, wishing it was alcohol, and returned it to Joseph.

“When will you leave?” he asked.

“Now, I think,” Sebastian replied. “I want this over with as soon as possible.”

Joseph nodded and turned to him, placed his fist to his chest. “Then I wish you safe travel, Seb.”

He managed something like a half smile and nodded, turning and marching across the blood-sodden field to his horse. She was grazing over dandelions but came to attention when he approached, ears flicking as he swung into the saddle. Kidman was standing at the edge of the camp, staring out over the battlefield with inscrutable thoughts swimming in the depths of her gaze.

He paused next to her, sensing she had something to say. “I could come with you,” she offered.

Sebastian glanced out at Joseph, standing alone in the field with a rosary coiled around his fist like a beaded snake. He shook his head.

“You’re needed here,” he replied.

She frowned, but didn’t argue. With the conversation settled, he clicked his tongue and directed his horse towards Beacon township. The jar felt heavy against his hip as they graduated into a gallop. What awful sort of experiment could the doctor have needed them for? Did the king know? Sebastian planned to find out.

When he reached the town, he went right to the inn where he’d spent the night. Bars were the best sources of information in any town or city. The keepers always heard more than their fair share of gossip from lips made loose with alcohol and warm food. It seemed this time was no different. The barkeep, Meredith, paled when he inquired as to where he could find the doctor.

“By the Elk, behind the apothecary,” she said. “May the river take him and all the poor souls with him.”

Sebastian frowned. “What do you mean?”

“Marcelo oversees the asylum.” Here, she visibly shivered. “You hear ‘em screamin’ in the night. Poor bastards.”

He opened his mouth to ask further, but a few rowdy patrons whisked her attention away. Gut tight and hard, he mounted his steed again in search of the apothecary. It was a small shop on the opposite edge of town, made of rough wood and uncovered windows. A weathered sign with an herb painted in flaking green swung from a post jutting from the façade.

Sebastian dismounted and tied his horse to the railing out front. She shifted, pawed at the ground in uncharacteristic nervousness. He ran his palm down her snout and made a soothing noise, eyeing the shop warily. There was no movement through the windows— for all intents and purposes it seemed empty.

 _It’s just a shop_ , he reminded himself and strode through the door.

The sharp scent of mashed herbs and mixed ointments hit his nose first. Some of it was familiar after his own experiences with medicine. The walls were lined with shelves housing transparent glass jars, filled with what looked like assortments of leaves and sticks and flowers. The counter stretched most of the width of the shop, scratched and pockmarked where it showed among scatters of parchment.

A man bustled in from an open doorway to the back, wiping his beefy hands on a dirty apron. Sebastian sized him up. He was a large man in both width and height, but overall ordinary. Bald headed and bespectacled, with a graying mustache. His forearms were bared by rolled up sleeves and there were no visible weapons. Overall, an easy opponent if he chose to be—not that Sebastian had any reason to think so.

“I thought I heard the door. How may I help you, Sir Knight?” the man asked.

Sebastian placed his hand on the pommel of his sword, a casual gesture that didn’t draw the apothecary’s eye. That was unusual. Most people couldn’t help but notice, uneasy in the presence of someone so heavily armed. He didn’t trust that wide, friendly smile.

“I’m looking for the physician Marcelo Jimenez,” Sebastian said, authority ringing in his voice. “I was told he’s behind your apothecary, by the river.”

“Ah, yes!” the apothecary replied, “My brother resides in the asylum some ways back in the trees. He should be there now.”

Sebastian narrowed his eyes a little, the sense of impending violence roiling in his veins. There didn’t seem to be any threat here, but his instincts were screaming at him to prepare. Perhaps he was just allowing Meredith’s reaction and his own disgust with his task cloud his judgement.

“Your brother?” he asked anyway.

The apothecary nodded, a little too enthusiastic for Sebastian’s taste. Most people were wary of a knight asking after their family. Then again, he was used to tired, solemn troops and Joseph’s collected demeanor.

“I’m Marcelo’s brother, Valerio. I send him the patients that can’t be helped with medicines.”

Sebastian shifted, glanced over his shoulder outside. The street was deserted. His horse was still restless. Considering the poverty of the town, he would have expected the apothecary to be busy with the ill or their family members.

He turned back, setting his jaw. “How far back?”

“Oh, about half a league, I suppose,” Valerio replied. Still smiling. “There’s a small path you can follow.”

Sebastian nodded and turned on his heel, calling his thanks over his shoulder. Something was not right, but he couldn’t place what. He almost wished he’d allowed Kidman to accompany him— or perhaps invited Joseph. Some company to keep him grounded, or maybe even agree that this is all very odd. A second set of eyes to see what he was missing.

He left his horse in front of the shop. The last thing he needed was for her to be spooked in the forest of an unfamiliar area. The way things were unfolding, getting lost in these woods was the least of his concerns. Before leaving, he retrieved his cloak from his saddlebag and clasped it around his shoulders, pulling the hood over his head.

The path behind the apothecary was barely that. Sebastian had seen deer trails better stamped out, but the overgrowth to either side made it easier to tell where to step. The deeper he ventured, the thicker the canopy of leaves overhead, blotting out the weak sun. Eventually, the chatter of birds muffled into an unnatural, pervading silence.

Sebastian’s eyes were active, scanning the foliage and ground around him despite no evidence of danger. His hand strayed to the hilt of his longsword and remained. The path curved a sharp left up ahead and he frowned, muscles coiling of their own volition. There was nothing waiting when he took the corner and he exhaled to settle himself.

Something snapped behind him. Heavy, purposeful. Sebastian tensed again and drew his sword, pivoting to face the sound. A flash of movement to his right. A streak of brown fur and… metal? He’d have thought it a wolf, except this thing was bigger than any wolf he’d seen and they certainly weren’t armored.

As he took a careful step back, a low snarl pierced the air. It doesn’t sound like a wolf either, nor a bear. Sebastian tightened his grip as a blur darted across the path. Sebastian felt like he’d been doused in a bucket of icy water. Unblinking eyes and exposed bone, mangled flesh and teeth. So many teeth. This wasn’t any creature found on earth, which meant it was nothing he could defeat with steel.

There was little honor in it, but Sebastian turned and ran. There was a sickening crack behind him, a roar to liquefy his bones. Sebastian fumbled his sword into its sheath to sprint as he heard the monster give chase behind him. His heart hammered against his rib-cage, threatened to burst free and outpace him.

He didn’t dare look back. The path was too uneven, too wild the further he progressed. One misstep and he was dead. This wasn’t how he wanted to die. Joseph may have thought he was drinking himself into an early grave, but Sebastian had no plans to leave the earth. Not yet.

Even the best laid plans fell through, though. He felt hot, acrid breath on the back of his neck right before it pounced. Sharp teeth pierced the flesh of his shoulder deep to scrape along the bone. The beast clamped down like a vice as he screamed in pain. Its weight barreled him to the ground. His skull cracked against a rock and his last thought was of the horrid vial in his belt.


	2. Lost and Found and Mutated Hounds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sebastian and Ruvik meet.

He’d told that bumbling idiot to stay away from the basement. After the Sadist “incident” two months ago, Ruvik had thought that Marcelo would be put off from snooping around his experiments. A miscalculation, it seemed.

Now Ruvik had to waste precious time corralling the damn thing back into its cage before it was seen. It was one thing for the Sentinel to run free at night. The asylum patients were locked away and the townsfolk shut themselves up in their little homes. They knew something unnatural hunted in their woods at night and that fear kept them from wandering where they weren’t welcome in the day. That protection only lasted so long as they never saw what really stalked the forest.

If Ruvik had learned anything, it was that fear was a delicate balancing act. They only had to be afraid enough. Too afraid and some bumbling, illiterate halfwit would make a mob of the slobbering townspeople. Ruvik’s work would be ruined and he’d probably have to kill them all for good measure, before the particulars of his experiments reached the King.

It was good luck (if there was such a thing) when he heard a man scream not far from the entrance where the Sentinel had escaped. The beast had its teeth sunk in some ill-fated passerby, more preoccupied with its new chew toy than running as Ruvik approached. He caught a flash of treated metal, the scarlet of dyed fabric, and realized who the unfortunate victim was.

The knight he’d requisitioned for the eyes. Ruvik could retrieve his materials and silence the only witness in one fell swoop. The man groaned, still unconscious but clearly in great pain as blood soaked the earth beneath him. At this rate, he’d be dead in no time.

Ruvik tilted his head, staring at the Knight Order crest engraved on the man’s pauldron. In his estimation, knights were meat-headed thugs compensating for what was in their trousers with their swords. Sebastian Castellanos, however, could be considered a knife among spoons. Ruvik had heard stories—Knight Sebastian was supposed to be a gifted strategist and talented swordsman, a credit to the king’s army.

Hadn’t he read somewhere that the Knight Order was governed by a strict code that revolved around honor or some other such nonsense? Saving Sebastian’s life would put the knight deeply in Ruvik’s debt. Between his fraternization with Mobius and Marcelo’s increasingly questionable behavior, perhaps he’d need a combat-savvy tool at his disposal.

Ruvik commanded the Sentinel follow him, back down in the depths of the hidden tunnels that circuited beneath Beacon township. It was reluctant to give up such a tasty treat, but a cow carcass eventually convinced the beast to release the prone knight. If Ruvik wanted to keep his new lap dog alive, he’d need to get Sebastian to his labs.

The only trouble was that Sebastian, while not dramatically larger than Ruvik, was more than he could carry. That armor alone added at least forty kilograms to a man already heavy with muscle. With a litter he might be able to manage it, but not while Sebastian was equipped in full regalia.

Taking off even the basics required more time than Ruvik would have liked, and Sebastian was still left in half his armor by the time he lost patience. He rolled the groaning deadweight onto the litter and even then, Ruvik had to strain to drag him to the labs. He was half-tempted to just leave the knight as a snack for one of his experiments, but by then he was close enough to call for one of his reluctant assistants.

He and Tatiana hauled Sebastian to the main lab and finally managed to heave him onto the blood-stained work table. The man’s eyes fluttered briefly as they dropped him much like a sack of potatoes onto its surface. Ruvik expected him to come back to consciousness, perhaps to even put up a fight, but Sebastian passed out again just as quickly.

Tatiana left to retrieve Sebastian’s discarded armor, leaving Ruvik with his newest project. He readied his medical supplies and divested Sebastian of his top layers. What wasn’t leather was cut away, Ruvik’s tolerance for Sebastian’s complicated wardrobe long run thin.

While his metal armor and mail had been some help against the Sentinel’s teeth, the leathers had been no match. A chunk hadn’t been taken out of his shoulder, but the puncture wounds were numerous and deep. Left alone, Sebastian would have bled out or worse, become sick with infection. With all Ruvik’s medical knowledge, cleaning and sewing his injuries took little time.

When he finished, he considered the knight with a clinical, critical eye. Ruvik was all too aware of how pathetic the medicine outside of his lab was. That any knight survived more than a few months at a time was almost unbelievable. A perusal of Sebastian’s bared skin only confirmed this—his body was a map of poorly healed scars, lacerations that had been stitched together like cheap linen under a toddler’s hands.

Despite his poor care up to that point, Ruvik had to marvel that Sebastian was not only alive, but as strong as he was. Every inch of him beneath that tanned skin was toned muscle. His was a body built and utilized for battle, for labors of blood and death. His hands were bruised and scratched and responsible for the loss of more lives than perhaps even Ruvik.

Sebastian was handsome too, Ruvik had to admit. A credit to those ridiculous romanticized stories of knights in shining armor rescuing damsels in distress and charming them out of their chastity. He had thick, dark hair and a proud jaw, a strong nose. The knight was dirtier and scruffier than those stories told, but then reality so often was that way as well.

Overall, quite the pet he’d acquired.

Speaking of, he need to take a second look at the Knight Order codex. He had a copy of it somewhere, he just needed to find it to be prepared when Sebastian woke.

***

Unconsciousness felt like a wet blanket across Sebastian’s mind, heavy and cold and smothering. It was a little like drowning and floating at the same time. He hadn’t dreamed of Lily, which was more unnerving than watching it all over again. Sebastian clawed his way back to reality, tearing at the drowsiness in his thoughts.

The first sensation he was greeted with was pain. It was at once sharp like a blade and dull like a blow, but altogether excruciating. Sebastian was no stranger to pain or slow memory. What happened this time? He groaned and grit his teeth, forced himself to squint his tired eyes open.

There was a ceiling above him, low and thick with cobwebs. It was illuminated by the soft, flickering glow of a fire— a lantern probably, since he didn’t hear the crackle of a hearth. Apart from the pain his shoulder, his body ached from lying on the unyielding surface beneath him. Did he pass out on the floor of an inn again?

He inhaled to quell the pounding in his head. The room smelled like death and old blood. Not an inn, then. He tried to sit upright but didn’t get far before his shoulder and head protested. The room— what he could see of it— spun.

Someone was observing him in the shadows.

Sebastian swallowed bile and pushed himself up with his good arm, slower this time. “Who’s there?”

The world tilted, but he managed to sit up without his stomach rioting. By the time the blood stopped rushing in his ears, the stranger had shifted into the light. It was a man who was, as far as Sebastian could see, wrapped in clean white bandages. Unusual yes, but he’d seen worse in the medical tents throughout the wars.

“Where am I? Who are you?” he demanded.

The man moved with an odd sort of grace. Careful, but controlled and purposeful. He strode to a nearby workbench and leaned over its cluttered surface, claiming a quill to scrawl on a piece of parchment.

“I saved your life,” he said.

His voice was deep and gravelly, but the words themselves were spoken with practiced articulation. It had the superior, authoritative ring of nobility to it. Sebastian frowned, glanced down at himself. His torso was bare save for a set of bandages wrapped around his chest and shoulder. A patch of scarlet had begun seeping through— he must have reopened his injuries when he jerked up.

“That doesn’t tell me who you are,” Sebastian replied, though his tone wasn’t as hard.

The man turned. There was an inscrutable expression on what was visible of his face as he stalked across the room. Sebastian tensed, swinging his legs over the edge of the wooden table. He doubted he could even stand on his own, but he wasn’t going to leave himself vulnerable more than he already had. The man stopped just out of arm’s reach, hands clasped behind his back.

“You may call me Ruvik.”

Sebastian’s brow furrowed. “Ruvik…”

Ruvik took another full step closer and Sebastian got a better look at the edges of the bandages. The angry red ridges of warped scars were just visible past the clean wrappings. Sebastian recognized the aftermath of terrible burns. He met Ruvik’s eyes. They were pale twin moons, sharp as blades and swimming with intelligence. His gaze was as unnerving as it was compelling.

“I’m going to examine your head. Tell me what you recall before you woke up here,” Ruvik said.

Sebastian leaned away slightly as Ruvik reached for him, but his hands remained in his lap. Not defensive, just dubious. He wasn’t a fan of medical care from the doctors in the army camp; a suspicious stranger required more faith in humanity than he generally had.

“You some kind of physician?” Sebastian asked.

Even Ruvik’s hands sported the bandages, but his fingertips were free. Some of them were discolored and scarred like his face, but they seemed dexterous. Skilled enough to patch up Sebastian’s shoulder, at any rate. His head hurt enough that perhaps he should allow the examination, so long as it wasn’t invasive.

Ruvik narrowed his eyes a little at Sebastian’s question. “Something similar. Now sit still and tell me.”

Sebastian huffed and sat forward again with a short nod. Ruvik closed the distance between them with one more half-stride and began rifling Sebastian’s hair out of the way. To distract himself from the discomfort, Sebastian tried to remember the events that had brought him there. Perhaps it was best to leave out the reason he was seeking Marcelo Jimenez in the first place.

“I was told I could find Marcelo Jimenez by following the path behind the apothecary’s shop,” he began.

Ruvik’s rough thumb brushed over tender flesh, sending a wave of nauseous pain through Sebastian. He squinted at the sting but didn’t flinch away from the curious hands. His reaction was still noted with a quiet hum.

“I take it you followed the path,” Ruvik prompted.

“Yes.”

Sebastian remembered the eerie quiet of the forest swallowing him the deeper he walked. The sharp, icy feeling of hidden eyes on the back of his neck was difficult to forget. He reached for a sword no longer attached to his person and curled his hands into fists instead. Perhaps he should be more concerned about that, but he was in no position or condition to look for it.

If Ruvik noticed the movement, he didn’t seem concerned. “And then?”

Sebastian cleared his throat and tried to think. There had been unease, shadows swarming the narrow trail. Something had hunted him, something that he couldn’t quite picture, but he didn’t really want to either. A wretched beast of bones and muscle and metal.

“Something attacked me. A— god, I don’t even know what it was.” He pinched the bridge of his nose beneath Ruvik’s nimble fingers. “Then I woke up here.”

A bolt of pain struck him down into his temple. It felt like there was a blacksmith hammering away and his skull was the anvil. He glanced at Ruvik beneath the man’s hand, trying to gauge his expression beneath the mask of wrappings. He seemed pensive, almost calculating.

“Why were you looking for Marcelo Jimenez?” Ruvik asked.

Sebastian released a breath and when he inhaled again, a little of the pain eased. “I was delivering something to him.”

Ruvik’s hands paused and something lit up behind his eyes, something that set Sebastian on edge. What had been harmless intelligence a moment ago was something else now, something closer to madness than genius. Danger, his instincts screamed. He didn’t resist when Ruvik tilted his chin up so they faced each other.

The corner of Ruvik’s mouth twitched as he leaned a touch too close for propriety. “I was the one who asked you for the eyes. Where are they?”

Sebastian stared, his sluggish thoughts grinding against each other like ill-fitting gears. “You…”

“Come now, Sir Knight, you may have hit your head but you’re not a complete imbecile.”

He knew he was being mocked. He may have just met Ruvik, but Sebastian could detect the mocking amusement in his voice. The pounding in his head intensified.

“The letter was from Marcelo Jimenez…” he said.

Ruvik didn’t roll his eyes, but it seemed like a near thing. For the moment, he seemed content to toy with Sebastian’s lacking critical thinking skills. In a battle, decisions and strategies had to be reassessed in mere seconds and he’d never had trouble doing so before. He must have hit his head harder than he thought.

“I often use Marcelo’s name to requisition for supplies. People tend to be less wary of his position than mine,” Ruvik explained, speaking slowly so that Sebastian could process.

Sebastian’s brow furrowed, but that just made his migraine thump hard in time with his rising pulse. “Who the hell are you? What do you want?”

Ruvik’s thumb brushed Sebastian’s cheek just under his bruised eye, palm cupping his jaw.

“I am the king’s alchemist, Ruben of the house Victoriano, and you are mine.”


	3. Bonds Forged in Blood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sebastian takes a path, and only time will tell if it was the easier or harder one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long! My life has been insanely busy, but hopefully I'll be able to update more regularly now.

Sebastian’s ears rang, the echo of Ruvik (Ruben’s?) words bouncing against the walls of his aching skull. He felt like he’d had one too many pints and the world was rocking at precarious angles. He’d had hangovers less disorienting than the last minute of his life. The world faded to muted colors and distant sounds, even his own heartbeat that almost deafened him a moment ago.

If Ruvik’s hands weren’t still on him, he was sure he would be swaying. Maybe even on the floor. He grasped for something, anything, for some iota of stability and landed on anger. It had led him astray in the past, but it felt like his only lifeline just then.

Sebastian snarled, reached up to wrench Ruvik’s hands from his face. “What the hell do you think—”

“I saved your life,” Ruvik said, voice firm and impassive. Sebastian’s hands slackened around his wrists. “As a member of the Knight Order, you owe me that debt now.”

Sebastian clenched his jaw so tight that his teeth ached, not sure if he was restraining his anger or clutching it for dear life. He couldn’t move. Could barely breathe. Even as Ruvik’s hands returned to his bruised and bloodied face like magnets, his body would not obey him. At best, his fingers twitched, but there was no force or purpose behind it. He was sure his injured shoulder was starting to complain, though he couldn’t feel it.

He parted his lips with his tongue, mouth bone dry. Half of him longed for nothing more than to tell Ruvik to fuck off and go to hell. The other half knew that if what the alchemist had said was true, he was in no position to do more than comply. Words formed and then died on his tongue, a loop of denial and horrified dawning acceptance.

Ruvik arched an eyebrow and tilted his head, already knowing the answer to his next question. “Am I wrong, Sir Knight?”

As much as Sebastian hated it, he wasn’t. A section of the codex demanded a blood oath should his life be saved by someone outside the Knight Order or the military. Ruvik was not only a noble, but the court alchemist. If he was to be believed— and a small part of Sebastian weakly insisted, he might not be— his life was to be henceforth dedicated in service to that debt.

Reluctant resignation settled like a cold weight in his gut, even as his mind rebelled. There was something wrong here, edges that didn’t match, pieces the didn’t fit. If only his head would stop throbbing…

Sebastian was no fool. Some things were a little fuzzy at that moment, so the specifics were beyond his reach, but he remembered enough. There was only one royal alchemist in all the king’s court and there were some ghastly stories surrounding the sort of work he did.

“That _thing_ in the woods,” Sebastian gritted out, finally finding the ground to tighten his grip. “You made it with magic.”

Ruvik remained unruffled, his thumb still caressing soothing circles over Sebastian’s cheek. The sick twist was that some part of Sebastian reveled in the physical contact. It wasn’t drawing blood or bruises, it wasn’t false or insincere. It was possessive, certainly, but when was the last time anyone had wanted him? When was the last time he wanted to be wanted?

“Not _magic_.” Ruvik made the word sound dirty. “Science.”

Sebastian narrowed his eyes. “But you made it. I owe you no oaths if you were the one trying to kill me in the first place.”

Ruvik snorted and curled his fingers, nails dragging through Sebastian’s stubble. A jolt of electricity rattled down Sebastian’s bent spine. He bit the inside of his cheek until he tasted blood. Ruvik’s smirk widened.

“I did not release the Sentinel. That was someone else— Marcelo, I suspect,” Ruvik explained, sounding far too smug. “It was pure coincidence that the Sentinel decided you would be fitting prey—and luck that I came to your rescue.”

Sebastian frowned. There was more to it than he saw, but he was just… so tired. It was more than just his body or his mind after years of war. The fatigue dragged at him, unravelling his protests. It was too much energy to think and analyze through the pain.

Ruvik’s eyes shined with an unsettling gleam, as if he could hear Sebastian’s thoughts. “You are wasted settling the king’s every little spat, Sebastian. I can offer you direction again. Purpose.”

Sebastian inhaled shakily, his hands falling into his lap. Once upon a time, he’d had those things. He’d looked farther ahead than his next soak in bottle or battle. For a time, he’d been driven by something more than grief and the need to forget. His life had been filled some something other than blood and booze and a crippling loneliness that lived inside his skin. That had been so, so long ago, though.

Perhaps Ruvik was lying, but Sebastian just didn’t have it in him to care anymore. So what if he wanted a toy knight to go crusading around at his every whim? At least Sebastian could pretend there was a noble cause behind it, a sense and a reason even if it was beyond his understanding.

Besides, he tried to reason with himself, it wasn’t a risk Sebastian could take. If Ruvik were to bring the matter to public attention, it would be Sebastian’s word against a noble’s— a court alchemist, at that. Maybe he wasn’t the man or the knight he’d been before the fire, but he hadn’t forfeited his dedication to the code entirely. What good was he without his word as a knight? What else did he had but his honor.

“Very well,” Sebastian sighed, “but if we are doing this, we are doing it right.”

Ruvik hummed, eyes glinting. “If we must, but first I want the eyes I asked for.”

***

Sebastian never got a chance to ask just what the eyes were for. For the sake of his own sanity, that was probably for the better. Somehow, the vial had survived the attack from the (what had Ruvik called it?) the Sentinel, and the alchemist seemed pleased by their condition.

He held the glass up to the light and shook it a little, admiring the organs as they squished inside their container. Sebastian had to look away, not strong enough to control his stomach when he was already nauseous

“Impressive for someone like you,” Ruvik observed.

Sebastian chose not to respond to that and focused instead on looking for his equipment. The floor was hard stone, clear of anything except furniture and… drains? He noted that it was unusually clean and decided that that was far as he’d think about it. His strength was waning, and it was better to get this over with before good sense returned to him when he woke again.

“Where is my armor?” he asked.

Ruvik was silent for a moment before his voice came back distracted. “Hmm?”

Sebastian bit back his aggravation but didn’t dare glance in his direction. “My armor.”

“It should be here soon.”

True to his word, the door creaked in only a couple minutes later. A harangued-looking woman dragged his ensemble in on a litter, metal pieces rattling as they crossed the uneven floor. Sebastian was off the table before he could think better of it. He stumbled a bit, caught himself on the edge of the table with his bad arm, but managed to stay upright.

Swallowing back the vertigo, Sebastian helped her tow it further into the room. She straightened and blinked at him as he sat back against the edge of the table, panting. There was a brief flash of surprise before her expression smoothed into cool indifference. She turned to Ruvik, who had watched the whole scene with detached curiosity. Like Sebastian was some odd creature under a magnifying glass.

“Will that be all?” the woman asked.

“Have Alice draw a bath and make a room for our guest,” he replied. “I will call for you if I need your assistance again.”

The woman nodded and departed without another glance at Sebastian, closing the door behind her. A sense of finality wrapped around Sebastian, sank heavy into his bones. He was going to make a blood oath to Ruben Victoriano. Fuck.

With a grunt, he dug into his pile of clothes and armor, looking for something suitable. He’d need a piece of cloth big enough to tie around… well anything. A wrist, probably. There weren’t many knights who’d gotten themselves a blood debt, but Sebastian knew the wrist was the favored place to wear the pledge.

He finally decided on his cape. It was already a deep crimson color, and tattered thanks to the Sentinel. Taking the edge in his hands, he ripped a long strip as even as he could and sighed. His own armor would bear Ruvik’s family crest when he finally got to a blacksmith, but that was farther down the road and would involve—shit, it would involve Joseph. Those were thoughts for later, though.

As Sebastian staggered to his feet, Ruvik turned his attention from whatever he was doing. He noted the determination written in the knight’s furrowed brow and tight jaw, and smirked.

“Ah, are we ‘doing this right’ as you said?” he asked.

Sebastian gave into the urge to roll his eyes and gestured him closer. “Yes.”

Ruvik strolled within reach and waited, hands clasped behind his back. Sebastian inhaled deep, tried to remember the words. As they formed—foggy in his mind after so many years—he drew a blade from his boot and made a long cut across his forearm.

Ruvik frowned. “What are you—"

“I, Knight General Sebastian Castellanos, pledge my life and service to you, Ruben of the house Victoriano, to repay the debt of blood I owe you.” As he spoke, he wrapped the fabric around the split skin, blood soaking quickly into the material. “I vow to serve you as faithfully and unwaveringly as I have served my country and my king until now.”

Ruvik was smirking again by the end of the flowery oath, arching an eyebrow. With all the blood loss he’d endured that day, Sebastian was surprised he was still capable of blushing. The heat of it across his nose and cheeks and neck told him, however, that he was.

“Is that all?” Ruvik teased.

Sebastian took Ruvik’s arm at the elbow and jerk it forward between them to wind the blood-soaked cloth around his wrist.

“This is unsanitary,” he remarked with disdain.

“Do you accept my vow?” Sebastian continued, voice rough with impatience and irritation. “Do you accept the debt I owe you and my service to repay that debt?

Ruvik sighed. “Yes, now what is—”

Sebastian tied the piece of his cape around Ruvik’s wrist despite his unsteady hands. “Then this cloth, soaked in my blood, shall be proof of the oath that binds my life to yours.”

Finished, he stumbled back against the table and tried not to collapse. Ruvik glanced between him and the pledge for a few moments, an unreadable expression on his face. Sebastian was too exhausted to try deciphering it, if he was having second thoughts or proud of himself for fooling a knight. Not that it made much difference either way anymore. For all intents and purposes, it was as Ruvik had said before. Sebastian belonged to him.

“Lay down before you pass out,” Ruvik commanded at length. “It was difficult enough getting you up there the first time. I need to clean and bind that cut.”

Sebastian groaned as he settled himself on the uncomfortable table. It could have been a sheet of ice for all he cared. His eyelids drooped shut and he was unconscious before Ruvik had even approached to clean his arm.


	4. Incongruous Personalities

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More players on the stage. Sebastian finds a dubious friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My apologies that this has taken so long. College is destroying me and everything I hold dear. I am mostly kidding but these papers are killing me. There will be more Ruvik-Sebastian interaction in the next chapter, plus some Joseph probably.
> 
> As always, please enjoy.

Ruvik sighed as Sebastian’s breathing turned deep and even, his skin still ashy and sweaty from blood loss and exertion. That redundant and frankly dramatic spiel about debts and servitude could have waited for better health. Instead, the knight had worn himself out and stranded himself on Ruvik’s work table. Again.

What a ridiculous, hard-headed man. Were he not already so amusing, Ruvik would have seized the opportunity and experimented on him. As it was, the inconvenience was worth the acquisition.

“The guest room is all made up, boss. Should I— is that a bloody knight?”

He glanced up at Alice as she entered, her gray eyes wide as she gawked in turns at the pile of armor, the prone Sebastian, and Ruvik himself. Working for him in the palace, she’d run into her fair share of knights, so he didn’t understand why she seemed so shocked.

“Yes, he is quite bloody. That is why I ordered him a bath,” Ruvik replied coolly.

Alice snorted and perched a slender hand on her hip. “You know damn well what I meant.”

Ruvik rolled his eyes and tried to mask his disdain for her foul language— that would only encourage her. Of his two assistants, Alice was the most… spirited? Was that the right word? Perhaps manic was the better term. She was useful and intelligent, but where his and Tatiana’s intellect manifested quieter dispositions, Alice tended toward off-color remarks that were more of an acquired taste than an endearing quality.

“There is no way I can move him on my own,” she complained, wandering closer and poking at Sebastian’s non-injured shoulder.

Ruvik shot her a narrow-eyed warning as he regathered his instruments to clean up Sebastian’s arm. Alice raised her hands in mock surrender as she stepped back to give him room to work.

“Have Tatiana help you,” he suggested.

The dagger had at least looked clean, though it certainly hadn’t been sanitary enough for breaking skin. As long as Sebastian belonged to him, no one but Ruvik (and perhaps one of the assistants) would be caring for his wounds from then on.

Alice arched a skeptical eyebrow but sighed in defeat. “Perhaps we can manage it when she gets back from the market.”

Ruvik nodded. That would be fine. Unlike Alice, who chatted with anything remotely sentient, Tatiana would make her trip into town short and efficient. They’d have Sebastian out of the way before sunset, and Ruvik could prepare his newest subject when night fell.

“Take his armor to his quarters in the meantime,” Ruvik commanded, “I do not want to trip over it.”

Alice groaned but bent to reorganize the pile Sebastian had scattered earlier. The sharp-toothed bone pin she kept her hair up with slipped free at the shift in gravity, a cascade of cherry wine tresses tumbling around her shoulders. She cursed colorfully under her breath, with threats to cut it all off once and for all as she scraped it into a messy knot and impaled it again with extreme prejudice.

Ruvik shook his head a little as he focused his attention on Sebastian’s arm. Alice had been cooped up in the house for too long; she was starting to chafe under the necessity of staying indoors with only him and Tatiana for company. Out of consideration for her usefulness to him, he’d granted Alice an iota more lenience for her antics than usual. Perhaps Sebastian would be enough of a distraction until they were finished in Elk River.

“Was there anything else?” she asked as she picked up one end of the litter.

“Clean the instruments I used on him and then that armor,” he instructed. He tied off the last stitch and stood, leaving his bloody instruments on a tray. “They smell worse than him.”

She huffed in amusement and nodded. “I’ll be back down in a few minutes, then.”

When she returned as promised to sterilize his tools, Ruvik was already studying the eyes Sebastian had brought him. He was so engrossed, he didn’t even hear her enter until she was rattling through the glass bottles on the shelves behind him. Perhaps it was fortunate that he’d secured Sebastian’s service after all; he needed a guard dog while his mind was devoted to more worthwhile ventures.

“May I ask what you are going to do with him?” she asked when she noticed his eyes on the knight.

Ruvik frowned. “I fail to see how that is any concern of yours.”

She shrugged, whatever she was thinking hidden behind a mask of nonchalance. “I recognized the crest. Sir Sebastian Castellanos is one of the king’s favorite knights. If you are planning to use him as a test subject…”

He understood what she as getting at. The king was obtuse, but it wouldn’t take a genius to draw a line between his presence in Elk River and the mutilation or death of a knight.

“I would not have wasted my time and supplies on his injuries if he was going to be an experiment,” Ruvik said by way of answer. “Now, be quiet. I have work to do.”

Alice hummed in acquiescence and fell silent to her own task. By the time she’d sterilized all the equipment to Ruvik’s standards and put them in their places, Tatiana had returned. They hefted Sebastian from the table and carried him from the lab, Alice cursing under her breath the whole way.

Finally left to silence and privacy, Ruvik travelled to the tunnels for his first subject of the night.

***

When Sebastian next opened his eyes, he didn’t feel much better than when he’d close them. At least his head had stopped the incessant, thought-muddling pounding. Though it ached, and moving too quickly made him dizzy, it no longer felt as if someone was digging at his skull with a pick. His shoulder still hurt like hell, though, and the tightness in his forearm reminded him of the blood oath he’d made before passing out.

Fuck. He’d really done it. There was no going back.

He needed a drink.

When he squinted his eyes open, early morning sunlight greeted him. He’d slept through the night; Joseph was going to kill him. Sighing, he began the arduous process of moving—slowly and carefully, lest he’d forgotten about some other injury in the salience of the first three. It seemed he’d been moved to a bed at some point. It was even more comfortable than most inns he’d stayed in. Too bad it came with such a steep price.

“Good morning, sir,” a woman’s voice chirped.

Sebastian tensed, but managed to resist the instinct to snap his head towards them. He already knew from experience it would do more harm than good. His fingers twitched, spasming in the warm sheets, but remained at his sides as critical thinking at last made an appearance. He doubted his circumstances had changed much overnight; whoever had spoken was likely one of Ruvik’s servants.

When he finally turned, a well-dressed young woman smiled at him. There was a cloth in her hand and a bowl on a small table by her side. The scent of vinegar and oil met his nose as she rubbed the cloth over what he recognized as one of his vambraces.

“Who are you?” Sebastian asked.

“I am Alice,” she replied, “one of Ruvik’s assistants. How are you feeling?”

He grunted and sat up sluggishly, using his good arm for support until he was upright. Alice waited patiently, hands moving deftly over the leather as she observed him. Unlike Ruvik, she disguised her clinical interest well; the pleasant expression on her face belied the keen intensity in her eyes as they darted from his injuries to his stilted movements to his various facial expressions.

“Feel like I got into a fight with a hellhound,” he replied roughly.

She laughed a little. “You are not entirely wrong. I can get you something for the pain if you want.”

Sebastian considered, but then shook his head. Who knew what she’d give him, and he had a feeling it was in his best interest to have control over all his faculties. Alice just shrugged and went back to cleaning his armor. He wanted to be irate that she was touching his possessions, but she seemed much more skilled and efficient than him.

 “Ruvik had me draw you a bath,” she informed him, nodding to a door on his right. “Do you think you will need help washing?”

Sebastian blinked and flushed a little. He was no stranger to nudity and he’d long abandoned modesty, even in front of most women. There was little room for embarrassment in the army and the general camaraderie between knights made them indifferent to undress. Plenty of nurses had seen him naked as well in the medical tents.

He supposed it was just that Alice wasn’t from the company— she was clearly a well-educated woman, perhaps even of noble birth. He hadn’t anticipated her offer, nor for it to be said with all the casualness of small talk.

Noticing his expression, her lips twitched just slightly and deepened his blush. “You have been badly injured,” she reminded him. “I assure you, I do this sort of thing often. You will not scandalize me.”

Of course. He imagined she was exposed— ah, poor word choice, he chastised himself— to a variety of unusual sights under Ruvik’s employ. A naked knight would likely be of negligible impact. Still…

“Perhaps just the dressings.”

Alice nodded with an understanding hum and stood, setting her work on the chair she’d just vacated. She wiped her hands on a spare towel and headed for the bathroom with instructions to follow when he felt he was able to stand.

With her gone, Sebastian got a look at the robe that hung on the back of her empty chair. It was a deep crimson velvet that matched the color of her plaited hair. Through blurry vision, Sebastian could make out the royal seal embroidered in gold on the right side of the chest. Along the sleeves and collar were nonsensical symbols that no doubt marked her as the alchemist’s apprentice. He’d never seen it in person before, but he recognized it anyway.

With a sigh and a groan, Sebastian set his feet flat on the floor and stood slow enough to accommodate his swimming head. The long night of uninterrupted rest had replenished most of his strength, at least. He no longer swayed like a flag in a light breeze. His joints and muscles didn’t even hurt like they usually did— apart from the ones affected by his injuries, of course.

Somewhat stiff, he hobbled to the bathroom and found Alice peering into the full bathtub with an impatient tilt to her eyebrows.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

She gestured irately as she turned to him. “The water’s gone cold. Hold on.”

Sebastian tracked her with curiosity as she circumvented the tub like a bumblebee around a flower, then bent on the other side and did something with a tiny frown. She straightened and strode back to the bedroom, a determined aura almost visible around her small form. He leaned in the doorway, watched her fumble through her robe’s pockets until her hand emerged, triumphant, with a little silver tin.

Literally humming with satisfaction, she sauntered right back to the tub as she clicked the tin open and extracted a thin wooden stick. Then she did something with a quick flick of her wrist that he didn’t catch _exactly_ , but there was suddenly a tiny yellow flame at her fingertips. Sebastian’s mouth gaped as he stumbled one daring step closer, any amusement at her mannerisms drying up along with any doubts about the alchemists’ legitimacy.

The words leapt from his tongue before he could corral them in for the sake of his pride. “What the fuck?”

Alice paid him no heed, just leaned out of sight beyond the tub again. A larger fire burst to life beneath it, orange fingers of flame scrabbling up the sides like a hand reaching up from the bowels of hell. Sebastian jerked back, the heat caressing his clammy skin.

“Whoops!” Alice chirped, all casualness. “A little too big.”

“Jesus, you are going to burn the house down!” he shouted, images of Castellanos manor in smoke and ruin superimposing itself over the mundane bathroom scene.

She snorted, skeptical mockery painting her features. The fire withered until only rare tails of flame peeked and skittered beneath the tub’s belly.

“Yes,” she agreed with dry humor, “I fear we may not escape with our lives. Try not to trip on your skirt as you run, Sir Knight.”

He glowered as she smoothed out her short skirt and straightened the breeches beneath. The jab at his character was not entirely appreciated given the circumstances, but his amazement and curiosity warred with the riposte pressing against the back of his teeth. In the end, he stayed silent while Alice slipped the tin into a pouch on her belt and approached him.

“Let me help you with your shirt and give your wounds a look while the water heats,” she said. “The boss will give you a more thorough exam, but I want to know what to set out.”

Sebastian glanced down at himself, taking conscious notice of the article for the first time. Had she and that other woman really dressed him, and he’d been none the wiser? Christ, the things they could have— it didn’t bear further thought.

They worked together to draw his shirt over his head. Alice pulled up a stool so that he could sit to even out their disparate heights. She unwrapped his shoulder with practiced ease, squinting as she prodded gently at the flesh around his sutures. He was no doctor, but he’d had enough injuries to see that the skin was surprisingly healthy— no redness or swelling.

Alice confirmed his assumption with her verbal musings. “This is promising, though you popped a couple.”

She checked his head next, poking and feeling with conscientious fingers. Despite the nearly identical positioning, it felt nothing like the interaction between him and Ruvik the night before. Ruvik had stood too close, touched with a lingering possessiveness that unnerved Sebastian. If anything, he felt almost too comfortable with Alice, like she was one of his knight friends.

“What was it that you did just now?” he asked at last, just to stop thinking of Ruvik.

Her eyes flickered down to his face for a fraction of a second. Had he not been watching her carefully, he wouldn’t have noticed. There was no stutter in her movements, no tells in the relaxed set of her shoulders. She was deceptively impassive, hiding her inner thoughts and emotions behind a convincing veneer of bubbly extroversion.

“Science. Alchemy. The lines are blurred,” she replied with a tiny shrug. She moved on to his forearm. “If you want specifics, ask Ruvik. He is… particular about sharing knowledge. Very particular.”

A shadow swept over her expression, the fleeting ghosts of fear and horror that fled just as quickly as they appeared. She shook her head a little, as if to rattle her thoughts free of whatever pit they’d fallen into. Sebastian had seen it in war veterans who had seen too much on the battlefield, scarred and disturbed by memories they could never express.

“From what I understand, you are here to stay, so he might share some secrets with you.” She winked at him and arched her eyebrows with a little grin. As if it was a privilege of some kind.

It didn’t feel that way to Sebastian. Her features softened as she read the resignation in his own, moving her attention from his head to his forearm.

“He… he is not so bad once you become acclimated to everything,” she offered as she unwrapped the clean cloth. “You can be happy here, I think. I know I am, for the most part.”

For the most part. An excellent caveat to add, but Sebastian could sense she wouldn’t speak on the subject much more. Alice may have been friendly, but they were still strangers and Ruvik was renowned for being a private—bordering on reclusive—man. It would take more time and effort to pry insights from her.

“What do you do for him, anyway?” he inquired, hoping it would be a safer topic.

She perked a little at that, her voice reclaiming its bouncy, cheerful rhythm from before. Luck was on his side for once.

“I help Ruvik with his research and learn in the process,” she explained enthusiastically. “I also deal with people most of the time. Between Ruvik and Tatiana, I am still surprised they survived as long as they did before I came along.”

Sebastian arched his eyebrows at her curiously. There was a private grin on her face, a muted affection for the two other alchemists, but she offered no further explanations. Her brief examination finished, she smothered the last of the flames and dipped her hand in the water.

“It should be warm enough now. Try not to get your stiches wet. If you do, pat them dry as quickly as possible,” she instructed.

Sebastian stood, locating a stack of towels on a nearby shelf with a collection of soaps. Alice headed for the door, wiping her wet hand off on her skirt.

“Wait, what did you mean?” he asked. At her questioning look, he clarified, “About them surviving without you.”

She chuckled and shook her head. “You will see. Enjoy your bath, Sebastian. I will leave clothes on the bed. Come downstairs when you are finished, and we will break fast.”

With a little wiggle of her fingers as a wave, she turned on her heel and shut the door behind her, leaving Sebastian to his privacy for the first time since he’d fallen into Ruvik clutches.


	5. The First Battle of the War

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sebastian's first morning with the alchemist clan. Ruvik gives him his first "orders".

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long! I hope this update is somewhat satisfying at least. Ruvik and Sebastian get to talk, and Ruvik gets a little frisky.

The isolation gave Sebastian time to gather his scattered thoughts, scrape them into some sort of order from the battered corners of his mind. First and foremost, he’d need to finalize his blood oath to Ruvik by calling on a fellow knight to bear witness. All three of them would sign official documents which would then be sent to the appropriate superiors. The King, the Knight Commander, and so on.

Joseph was the obvious choice, but not the easy one. That alone would take a decent night’s rest, a barrel of good alcohol, and a sturdy shield between them— if only so Sebastian wouldn’t have to see his expression when the time came. Unfortunately, there were no other knights that far out in the country who could carry out the task.

Following the witnessing, Sebastian would need to get the Victoriano crest engraved somewhere on his armor as a declaration of his loyalty. That could come later though, when he could visit his usual blacksmith and access the coin to pay for the addition. In the meantime, Ruvik would have the oath symbol and Sebastian’s word, which was still good for something, goddammit.

A clatter from downstairs roused him from his musings. Alice had been right; the bath water had felt like a hot spring when he’d climbed in, coaxing his tense muscles and aching joints into loose submission. Had he been in any other situation, it might have even lulled him into a doze. Instead, he’d leaned against the side of the tub unmoving for the past several minutes as he’d thought.

With a sigh, he started cleaning himself up. There was a small stand beside the tub, a cleaning cloth and an unused bar of soap on a bed of burlap. It didn’t look outwardly threatening, but Sebastian still sniffed at it warily. To his relief, he smelled lemongrass, lavender, and rosemary— nothing that he didn’t use in his own house or the rare occasions on campaign.

He lathered up the cloth and started scrubbing at his skin, careful of the stitches as Alice had warned him to be. Weeks of travel dust and sweat and dried blood sloughed off and into the water, turning it murky and discolored within minutes. After some consideration, he scrubbed through his hair as well, working the soap down to his scalp and ginger with his healing injury.

Despite widespread belief, Sebastian did care about his hygiene when he had the opportunity. He just didn’t often have that opportunity in the middle of campaign, and he had been bouncing around from warfront to warfront long enough that the road grit had sunk into his bones .

Somehow, he had a feeling that Ruvik wouldn’t abide that anymore.

Ruvik likely wouldn’t abide by a lot, but Sebastian wasn’t especially concerned with what he could abide. He was only his servant in a technical sense of the word. They’d spoken for all of ten minutes the day before, but Sebastian was already certain that working for Ruvik would be its own sort of war.

Granted, it wasn’t any type of war he’d fought before. The sides were blurred, and Sebastian wasn’t sure that his was a cause worth fighting for. God only knew what the consequences would be for losing. But he wasn’t a Knight General for nothing, and he hadn’t lost a war yet.

First order of business, though, was breakfast.

He climbed out of the tub with a soul-deep sigh and buffed himself dry with the towel he’d been left. The upper level of the house contained most of the heat and left him comfortable despite being naked. He wrapped the towel around his waist as he reentered the bedroom— god knew who _else_ would be waiting for him, and his pride could only take so much.

With no small amount of relief, he found that he really had been left to his own devices. Alice had left a set of clean clothes on the bed as promised, neatly folded with his boots lined up just below. The pants fit well enough, but the shirt was tighter than he would have liked across the chest. Someone— Alice, probably— had cut the sleeves off so that the taut fabric wouldn’t aggravate the wound in his shoulder.

He laced up his boots with some difficulty, contorting himself so that the stitches wouldn’t pull, and his head wouldn’t spin. None of his armor had been included in his new wardrobe and he felt almost as naked without it. Sebastian doubted he’d need his full battle ensemble, but Sebastian always wore some layer of protection— out of paranoia or preparedness depended on who was asked.

Stomach growling, Sebastian made haste for the door. He hadn’t eaten since his breakfast the previous day. Of course, he’d gone longer without a meal during the campaigns, but he needed the sustenance after all the punishment his body had gone through in the last several hours alone. Every experienced soldier knew to eat when they could— and eat well, if possible.

Alice hadn’t told him where the kitchen was, but the sounds of clattering and muttering were enough to guide him. He found her frowning at a book open in one hand, while the other stirred something in a pot bubbling over the fire. The other assistant stood at the counter, chopping vegetables with a rather impressive knife.

What had Alice said her name was? Tatiana?

As if hearing his thoughts, she glanced up at him in acknowledgement. She didn’t smile, but she wasn’t frowning either before she turned back to her task.

“Good to see you awake, Sir Knight,” she greeted.

Alice’s head snapped up as she shut her book, already smiling. “Sir Sebastian, you’re looking refreshed. I hope you’re hungry.”

“Starving,” he agreed, taking a slow step into the kitchen.

Alice beamed and pointed at the table set in the middle of the kitchen. “Take a seat and I can pour you a helping.”

Sebastian watched carefully as she spooned a generous helping of whatever was in the pot into a bowl and deposited it in front of him. It appeared to be a normal stew, thick and loaded with vegetables and meat. Steam curled and twisted from its surface, dispersing invisible as the warm, rich scent reached his nose.

His stomach growled, and one hand reached for a spoon despite his suspicions.

“What is the meat?” he asked.

Tatiana shot him an unreadable look while Alice snorted. “Rabbit.”

Sebastian dug in without further delay, shoveling heaping bites into his mouth heedless as it seared his tongue. It tasted better than anything he’d eaten in months. The only food he remembered as comparable were victory banquets hosted by the king. Hardly any time seemed to pass before he was scraping his bowl clean and Alice stopped by his elbow.

“More?” she asked.

He blinked, taken aback. Second helpings were unheard of in the army, where everything was carefully rationed and portioned out. Even in the rare, brief periods between wars, Sebastian didn’t get more than a single helping of whatever he was eating. Then again, he didn’t usually _want_ more of whatever he choked down— whether it be his own cooking or the disreputable taverns he frequented.

“Please,” he said.

“Hm, manners like that will get you far here,” Alice chuckled.

Speaking of manners. “Thank you for everything, including the excellent meal. I meant to say so sooner.”

She set the refilled bowl in front of him and touched his uninjured shoulder lightly. “Your silence spoke for itself, and you’re welcome for everything else.”

With one helping already settling warm in his belly, Sebastian managed to restrain himself from guzzling the second straight from the dish. Between savory bites, he glanced at the kitchen and at Ruvik’s assistants as they went about their tasks. Alice was concentrating on the book in her hands while Tatiana continued cutting vegetables and herbs with quick, concise movements. The two hadn’t exchanged words since he’d entered.

Again, as if sensing his eyes on her, Tatiana paused and turned to him. “When you are finished eating, Ruvik would speak with you.”

Sebastian frowned, appetite waning. “Where is he?”

“Down in his workshop,” she answered. “Alice will show you the way when you have finished eating.”

Alice, who had apparently been too engrossed in her studies to actually listen, glanced up. “Eh?”

Tatiana simply waved her off and went back to her task, the matter settled. Sebastian finished the last few bites of his meal with reluctant slowness, no more eager to confront Ruvik than the gallows. Though he was certain nothing could ever prepare him to face the alchemist again, he couldn’t help feeling underprepared, like a fresh squire on the frontlines of battle.

“Where is my armor?” he asked.

Alice didn’t even bother to glance up from her book that time. “I’m cleaning it.”

Sebastian bit his tongue against a sharp retort. He knew he couldn’t tromp down to Ruvik’s “workshop” in his full suit of armor, but something would have felt better than the single layer of clothing he was wearing. Yelling at her wouldn’t get him anywhere, however.

“All of it?” he inquired.

She finally tore her eyes from the pages, considered him for a beat of silence. “I have cleaned about half of it already. Your vambraces, greaves, that… article that goes around your neck. I can return what is done, if you would like.”

Grateful, but not trusting his tone to hide his relief, he nodded. Alice tilted one side of her mouth up in response and gestured to his bowl.

“Finish eating and I can take you to your armor before you visit Ruvik,” she said.

He scooped up the last few bites and then handed the empty bowl to her. She dropped it in the sink behind her and straightened.

“Follow me. It’s just as well that I give you a tour on the way.”

The bottom of the house was bigger than he anticipated. With more hallways and rooms than he’d anticipated. There was a study and a parlor, a small library and a sitting room attached to a bedroom. The door to the last was shut and locked.

“Ruvik’s room. He is hardly ever in there, though, so go there last if you can’t find him in the workshop,” she explained.

They stopped at the final room and Alice extracted a key from her belt. Inside, it was structured almost exactly like the kitchen, including counters, a deep wash basin, and a (currently cold) fireplace. The contents therein, however, reminded him of a witch’s cottage.

The walls were lined with jars sealed with cork or wax. In some were colorful or murky liquids, in others were powders, and in others still were sediments and shimmering flakes. The counters were clean and freshly-wiped but pockmarked and scorched in places. Empty pestles and mortars abounded in pairs, cut from different colored and patterned stone. Glass beakers and bowls for measuring clustered in one corner. It smelled sharp and pungent and metallic all at once.

“What is all this?” he asked.

“A workshop. Well, a smaller one, anyway,” Alice answered with pride. “Alchemy and food are a dangerous pair.”

His armor was piled on a table in the center of the room, the bowl and cloth she’d had in his room resting beside it. Alice stepped ahead of him, moving easily and confidently in a space where Sebastian felt he was in danger of setting something on fire just by breathing. She began picking at pieces and handing them off to him one at a time.

He could only wear one vambrace because of the stitches in the other forearm, but he didn’t hesitate to lace on what he could one-handed. The greaves took him a bit more time as he discovered the same trouble as when he’d tied his boots— his head injury was still finicky. The belt, complete with his sword still sheathed within, was also among his effects.

“Just be careful not to bump anything with it while you are down there. Ruvik will be cross if you break something,” she warned him. “And then he will make me clean it up.”

Sebastian snorted in amusement, but it was a nonnegotiable matter. He was just glad he hadn’t had to ask for his sword specifically. He left the gorget (or the “neck article” as Alice had called it) because he didn’t want to aggravate his shoulder and he knew there was only so much armor he could don before his caution became obvious.

“The way to the workshop is through there,” Alice said, pointing at a second door tucked in the corner of the room. “Go straight, no detours, and it will lead you to Ruvik’s workshop. Make some noise to let him know you are coming. He can get… absorbed in his work.”

Sebastian tensed. “You are not accompanying me?”

She cast him an apologetic smile. “I have chores to finish and Ruvik has no use of me right now. Just follow my directions and you will be fine.”

He didn’t believe her— at least not about that last part. Unfortunately, she was already walking away, muttering to herself about formulas or something equally incomprehensible. Sebastian turned back to the door, thick rectangular oak with bands of metal over its façade. It didn’t look out of the ordinary, but foreboding held him in a grip that mirrored the one he had on the handle.

“Get it together, Castellanos,” he muttered to himself, and wrenched the door open.

It was heavier than he thought— reinforced, apparently. It swung inwards on silent, smooth hinges. A wall of cool air brushed past him, and with it the scent of damp earth and the oil burning in lamps dotted along the walls. A set of stairs descended down and cut to the right. He stood at the top step, listening for a threat that wouldn’t appear. It was the silence of deep caves, a quiet that echoed. Somehow, that only set him further on the edge.

Determination squared his shoulders and set his stubbled jaw as he descended, pulling the door shut behind him. He felt keenly and suddenly shut off, like the world he knew was far and distant. A fairytale that he might have lived or a dream so logical as to be absurd.

Sebastian wrapped his palm around the hilt of his sword, traced his thumb over the scripted “SC” engraved in the pommel. The pinched tension between his shoulders eased a little with the extra weight settled on his hip, as he felt his callouses press into the grooves worn in the smooth leather.

“Off to hell we go,” he murmured.

The steps weren’t old enough to be worn yet, cut evenly and swept of dirt. He took his time descending, not bothering to quiet his steps. He was waiting to see what would change, if anything. Distantly, he thought he heard rattling chains. The stairs led only about a story deep and flattened into a short corridor.

There were two doors to either side and then a pair at the end, all of them similar to the door he’d come through. Alice had said not to stray, and Sebastian figured that advice had been given for a reason. As he passed, the second door on his left rattled, but there was no sound beyond. Were they reinforced too? Or perhaps insulated?

He repressed a shudder and forced his feet forwards, shouldering through the right-side door rather than both simultaneously. It was the same room he had woken in the day before, he realized. The tall wooden table he’d laid on was in the center of the room, thankfully unoccupied. With less-pressing matters on his mind, he was able to consider the subterranean chamber with a keener eye.

It was like the miniature workshop upstairs, only more horrifying. Where the room Alice had led him through was unusual, it wasn’t outwardly threatening. It looked like a witch’s cottage, yes, but a benign one. Ruvik’s workshop was like something out of every scary story Sebastian had heard.

There were shelves clustered together to either side. Each one was filled with what he guessed were the alchemist’s “materials” and the further he looked, the more horrifying they got. At first it seemed nothing he wouldn’t find in an apothecary’s shop.

The first shelf was mainly magnifying equipment and measuring tools, empty jars and vials, weights and balances, even candles. A shelf over were jars filled with the contents similar to those found in the room above. Dried herbs, powders, rocks and sediments, sands and chalks. Two more shelves nearby were stuffed end to end with books of varying sizes and colors, usually titled with gold script.

On the other side, however, was where the workspace became sinister. There was another case of tools, though they were more appropriate for a surgeon— or a butcher. Nothing but gleaming blades and contraptions with wicked teeth, objects that would rend flesh from bone like tearing wet parchment. They were all clean, not a speck of blood or gore on them, but Sebastian’s imagination sufficed.

Behind that shelf was another lined with specimens kept in viscous fluids; embryos and fetuses that looked like small demons, eyes and ears and fingers, organs and entrails, an entire pig’s head in a very large one. Its mouth was open in an eternal squeal, pale, clouded eyes staring at nothing forevermore.

Sebastian turned his gaze elsewhere. Surely there was more, but he’d seen enough already. There was only so much he could stand with two bowls of stew sitting thick and heavy in his stomach. He was a soldier and he’d witnessed more than his share of horror, but Ruvik’s laboratory was something from hell.

His eyes darted away from that section of the workshop, taking in the more innocent details. Lanterns hung from ceiling, just low enough that Sebastian would have to duck his head a little to avoid hitting them. Their summation cast a bright golden glow about the room— enough to read by… and illuminate the specimens, unfortunately.

There were counters pressed against the walls, dotted with lit candles. Most of them were wiped clean except for a couple concentrated places where Ruvik must have been working. Overall the space, despite its gruesomeness, was clean and tidy. The most chaotic area of the spacious workshop was the desk off to one side, where Ruvik himself sat working.

Remembering Alice’s words, Sebastian purposefully scuffed his boot across the floor and cleared his throat as he approached. Ruvik was still for a beat, and then he set a quill aside and turned, arching an eyebrow as he looked Sebastian up and down.

“So there was a face under all the grime,” he remarked, “though, just barely. Did Alice not provide you with a razor?”

Sebastian couldn’t remember if there had been one when he’d bathed. The fact that Ruvik didn’t like his stubble was enough reason to pretend that there had been, and he just hadn’t used it. He shrugged and crossed his arms as he leaned against the wooden table. It was well worth the twinge in his shoulder when Ruvik narrowed his eyes just slightly.

“I don’t care to be clean-shaven unless I am meeting a superior,” Sebastian explained.

Ruvik frowned and stood from his chair, stalking across the room until less than a meter separated them. He was still wrapped in the clean white bandages, and his eyes gleamed from beyond them.

“You are my servant.”

Sebastian did nothing more than raise a finger from where it was settled across his bicep. “I am in your service. There is a difference, Lord Victoriano.”

The undercurrent of irony in his voice did not go unnoticed. He could see a flash in Ruvik’s eyes that hinted at his thoughts, though Sebastian wasn’t yet sure how to read it. Outwardly, the alchemist only cocked his head, like Sebastian was a specimen he wanted to peel apart layer by layer. The knight tried his damnedest to hide the uneasiness that sparked and crawled all over him.

“And what is the difference, Sir Castellanos?” Ruvik replied, mimicking Sebastian’s tone with a touch of amused curiosity.

“I will not call you master, for one,” Sebastian declared.

The corners of Ruvik’s mouth twitched, something smug in his expression despite the fact that most of it was covered. As though he knew something Sebastian did not.

“Not yet, perhaps.” Then, before Sebastian could reply, he nodded to the table. “Sit down. I need to see to your wounds.”

Sebastian boosted himself onto its surface with one arm, set his hands on the edge by his thighs and tapped his nails along the side. Ruvik gathered a set of tools that had been left on a cloth nearby— what Alice must have set out after her once-over earlier.

As he returned, Ruvik gestured at him. “Your shirt.”

Sebastian began to tug it over his head, only to feel a pair of cool, scar-roughened hands slide across his lower abdomen. He jerked and bit back an embarrassing noise, feeling his cheeks flame where they were hidden by the fabric.

“What are you—?”

“You need assistance, or you will pull your stitches.” He couldn’t see Ruvik’s face, but he was certain that amused, arrogant look from their first meeting was back.

Sebastian grunted, knowing that it was a battle not worth fighting, especially when Ruvik was right. That didn’t stop the alchemist from being a little more… enthusiastic than was necessary. It seemed that he made a point of running his hands all the way up the center of Sebastian’s abdomen, across his chest, while he pushed the hem of the shirt up until he could slide it over his arms.

Only then did Sebastian remember that there were no sleeves— that Ruvik likely could have accessed Sebastian’s wound with the shirt on.

There was no denying that Sebastian was ruffled by what felt like a purposeful gesture. Was Ruvik doing it to fluster him? If so, it had worked. Or had it been a bid to regain control, to reinforce that he essentially owned Sebastian? If that was the case, then it had also worked in a sense. Sebastian repressed as shudder because on some sick, self-destructive level, he almost liked it.

Ruvik hummed and Sebastian’s eyes shot from his lap, but Ruvik seemed to be contemplating the wound in his shoulder. He stepped even closer, feeling around the stitches and tutting as he thumbed gently at the ones Sebastian had popped.

“Mind these from now on, or this will be an ugly scar,” he said, his clinical tone belying the touch of his fingers.

Sebastian snorted. “And what of it?”

Ruvik fingers tangled in his hair and tugged hard enough to sting. Sebastian didn’t respond right away, shock and a brief pulse of pain from his headwound locking his limbs.

“It reflects poorly on my skills if you are too stupid to mind your sutures. Do you understand?”

Had it been anyone else, Sebastian would have already broken their wrist and probably a few teeth. Had it been anyone else…

“Jesus, fine,” he growled. “Knock it off.”

“Do you understand?” Ruvik repeated, tugging again so that Sebastian was forced to look at him.

A dull ache radiated throughout his aggravated skull and he cursed. “Yes,” he gritted out.

Ruvik hummed again, relaxed his hold and smoothed his treacherous fingers over the injury in Sebastian’s cranium. They didn’t speak for a few moments, Ruvik concentrating on his examination and Sebastian eyeing him warily, waiting for the next childish display of control.

“The swelling has gone down. Have you been dizzy? Nauseous?” Ruvik asked.

“You mean before you irritated it?” Sebastian grumbled.

Ruvik didn’t warrant that with a response and Sebastian rolled his eyes. “If I move too quickly or bend over.”

The examination continued as such. Ruvik would ask him occasional questions, but he seemed satisfied with his findings overall. When he’d finished checking Sebastian’s head and forearm, where all the stitches remained intact and healthy-looking, he fixed the ones in his shoulder.

Sebastian had been unconscious when they’d first gone in, and as he felt the bite of the needle through his skin— sober and in his right mind— he was glad for that. He was no stranger to pain, but the wound was still tender almost twenty-four hours later. Had he been awake when it had been fresh, he was sure they’d have had to tie him down.

“If you are careful, you will be able to ride your horse,” Ruvik said as he set his tools aside.

Sebastian arched his eyebrows. “Where am I going?”

Ruvik didn’t even glance at him. “I assume you have belongings to collect, a chain of command to pass duties on to. Take care of it today.”

Sebastian’s stomach sank. He’d have to go back to the company, face Joseph sooner than he’d anticipated. It was shameful, but he almost wished he could have disappeared off the face of the earth, just assimilated into Ruvik’s service without his name or his title. Those things were what made him useful to Ruvik, of course, but he still wished he could have avoided the difficult questions and feelings that were to come.

“Right,” he said, and looked for his shirt.

Ruvik had set it on a side table with the discarded tools, where Sebastian couldn’t reach it without standing. Rolling his eyes, he slid from the table and strode around Ruvik to reach it. As he was sticking his arms through the openings, he felt a fabric-covered hand settle between his shoulder blades. His spine went rigid, a mix of surprise and instinctual wariness at having the alchemist at his back. He glanced over his shoulder, mouth open to ask just what the hell Ruvik was up to this time.

“Is this… _ink_?” Ruvik asked first.

Sebastian blinked, remembering the tattoo spanning an impressive expanse of his shoulders.

“Ah, yes. I got the first part at the end of my first campaign. Added onto it over the years,” he explained.

“How do they do it?” Ruvik asked.

“A needle dipped in some sort of special ink,” he replied. “I could not see exactly what they were doing at the time.”

Ruvik hissed, his blunt nails digging into Sebastian’s skin. “You are unfathomably unsanitary. You just filled an open wound with an unknown liquid and _left it_ …”

Oddly enough, Joseph had had a similar reaction when he’d first seen the art scrawled across Sebastian’s skin. Thinking of his fellow knight, however, just worsened his already poor mood.

He snorted and stepped away as he tugged his shirt over his head. “I did not ‘just leave it’ and there is more to it than you think. I am sure as hell am not the first soldier to get a tattoo.”

Ruvik did not seem impressed or convinced. Sebastian didn’t particularly care. What was or was not on his body was none of Ruvik’s business, no matter what he said. Hell, maybe he’d even get a new addition to mark the recent change in his career as a knight.

“Anything else you want before I head out?” Sebastian asked, irritated.

“No,” Ruvik replied, just as annoyed. “Just be back before sunset.”

Sebastian jerked his head in a nod and walked out. As he was ascending the stairs to return to the house, it occurred to him that despite his misgivings, the meeting with Ruvik hadn’t gone nearly as terribly as he’d expected. Time would only tell if it was a fluke.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Incoming Joe-Joe! Not sure if Ruvik's POV will be included in the next chapter, but we'll get back there eventually.
> 
> On another note, I did some research, but the use of contractions isn't super clear in history. Some are more recent, and other have been used for a long, long time. Let me know if the dialogue is clunky without them. I'd prefer flow to historical accuracy.


End file.
